God, I hate you SO much
by catmittens
Summary: Never send a college student to do a high schooler's job. They tend to resent the lost time, let alone the loss of mobile phone reception. Maiming and twisting of the “original,” as in it's not original, idea of a new Keyblade Master, and she's stuck wa
1. Chapter 1

Never send a college student to do a high schooler's job. They tend to resent the lost time, let alone the loss of mobile phone reception. Maiming and twisting of the "original," as in it's not original, idea of a new Keyblade Master, and she's stuck way back when Xehanort came to Radiant Garden.

I don't own Kingdom Hearts, and you'll all want to kill me for this piece of shit rag.

ßßß 

It had become a lot easier to understand what was transpiring around me so long as I made myself believe I was dreaming.

"Get—the _fuck_—_off_!" I barked, wheeling around and slamming one yellow Croc-shoed foot into the face of a twitching, hollow-eyed Shadow Heartless.

I had no idea if they were real Heartless or not—well, considering this _was_ a dream, a very lucid one, none of this was real so who really cared—but they were annoying as fuck and kept jumping at me.

A massive golden thing—I couldn't call it a sword, it was too ungainly and inefficient to be called that—kept materializing in my hand no matter how many times I threw it away and turned to punch one of the Shadows between their bulbous glowing eyes.

I had a fucking Economics test to study for, and I'd fallen asleep over my books. Why couldn't I wake up? Usually, once I realized something was a dream, I could will myself awake with ease. Not so, now, and though this place definitely had ethereal qualities it wasn't quite dreamlike enough.

Hence the fear that twittered on the edges of my thought. While I had twitchy Shadow-things to concentrate on I could ignore it well enough and bite out the odd curse every now and then, try not to bite my tongue in the process, but it was a snaking, binding fear that got no time when I was about to be swarmed by dark things.

One of them fucking bit me.

I yelped, and turned on my heel, slinging the miserable wretch sky-high. Okay, that was not cool. I knew what pain felt like in dreams and I knew it _intimately_—that hurt like it was real.

Not used to the weight of a sword, I hefted the big golden thing over my head and brought it down like some kind of beating stick. They popped out of existence, vanishing like a cloud of smoke upon a hit.

I growled when I felt the rake of claws at my ankles. They weren't tall, and I was resilient enough, but it was so goddamn fucking _annoying_.

"You leave me _alone_!" I roared, my voice fanning out in the darkness with a commanding snap, but it didn't echo back at me: Was this place really that big?

Not allowing thought to impede me, I jerked away and stumbled over their fat little bodies, heading up the stairs. I was afraid of heights and clamored nervously, eyes focused on the center of the steps. I couldn't look out at the black oblivion around me, I felt the sway of vertigo and a mortal fear of falling.

I eventually struggled my way up to a platform, and quite immediately it brought Kingdom Hearts' opening to mind, though the pattern below me was of a white-haired, tanned person wearing a white coat and a purple bow at his throat. The circles had strange motifs in them.

"_Xehanort_?" I muttered, hefting the sword-bashing-thing over my shoulder. The Shadows skittered away. I didn't much like the golden kill-stick, I was far more given to ranged weapons like guns lethal at 200 yards. "This just keeps getting weirder and _weirder_..."

Now I knew why Sora carried that dumb Keyblade on his shoulder all the time: You couldn't just lug it around like a normal sword, it was heavy, and I sensed shoulder problems in the near future.

"End of the line," I mumbled, licking my lips, absently cracking the knuckle of my left-hand index. I wrote with my left hand, but I wielded the stupid gold thing in my right: It was the same with baseball, I had to do it right-handed.

"**The Keyblade bearer has come..."**

I jumped, and stared at a cloaked figure standing at the opposite edge of the big, round platform. What was it with cloaks and idiots who think they can just pop in and out arbitrarily?

"Who the feck're you?" I demanded shortly, for a moment feeling the urge to quail before steeling myself. Now wasn't a good time to be afraid, and this _was_ a dream. "Look, I don't really care, so don't answer that, but where the hell am I?"

"**The Station of Transpontine."**

"Uh...come again?" Somehow that really didn't sound familiar from the games, not that she even knew what those idiotic platforms were named, anyway.

Just as long as she didn't fight a Darkside or a Twilight Thorn, this remained okay.

Oh, wait: What did she have to worry about? This was a dream, a dream...

The cloaked dude was gone.

"That's...probably not good," I mumbled, glancing around. The sword was trembling like it had a Rumble Pack stuck in it, and I winced: It didn't feel good on my shoulder, so I let it drop, tip end clanging hollowly against the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm surprised anyone reviewed, let alone to say it was funny, lol. So, a big thank you! I was feeling inspired, so here's another chapter, less than 24-hours after the first! It's most likely not as good as the last one, but then again...eh. Enjoy as much as you can!

♣

I was nearly thrown off my feet when, out of the clear blue sky—okay, very black darkness—something huge and fanged dropped down and jarred the Station of Transpontine.

I stared, horror struck. It looked like Fenrir—not Cloud's motorbike, Loki's son. Hey, sue me: I got an A on that mythology test. A big, monstrous wolf, for all you who don't know.

"...And now I'm running," I said, and turned to the stairs—which were gone. "Well, fuck: _That's_ not good..."

Never, _ever_ try to run in a foofy skirt—it doesn't work. Wake _up_, now! Holy crap—

"Goddamn it motherfucking sonofabitch cunting whore bastard—"

I ran like a whipped pussy—screw you, I'd prefer to _live_, thanks—ducking out of the way just in time to avoid a beheading.

The stupid golden kill-stick kept jerking back towards the wolf-thing, as many times as I threw it away and it reappeared in my hand.

It wanted me to fight the damn thing.

_Hell_ no!

"This is a dream a dream a dream a dream a dream—"

I fucking wasn't waking up. Panicked, I wheeled around the sword just in time to brace it against the floor, blocking a swipe of the shimmering gray wolf-thing.

_I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna die—_

**You must make a choice.**

_Now is _not_ the time for stupid ambiguous monologues!_ The voice in my ear startled me and I lost my footing, sending me spinning to the ground—I would've rolled off the edge of the platform if I hadn't jammed the golden kill-stick into the ground like an icepick. That hurt like a bitch, too. I saw stars.

**Your enemy is time.**

Vaguely, I was aware that I was distracted by both the spinning darkness and light around me and the voice itself—I was blindsided by one swipe of Fenrir's paw and sent flying into the darkness, a thin wail of fear bursting out.

**You are doomed to failure.** That was so loud it hurt.

"_I beg your fucking pa_—"

A strange feeling, not unlike the jarring sensation of free fall, whipped through me and I felt like I was going to puke.

I was blinded by bright light, and I suddenly slammed sideways against ground, rolling like a skipped ball until I went yelling over an embankment and finally landing in watery reeds, hacking up foul-tasting, algae riddled water.

What. The. Fuck.

I sat up screaming, thrashing and cursing. It took me more than a few moments to get through shell-shock, but—I wasn't in my own dorm drooling on Economics-centric text.

No, I was next to a fucking Roman fucking road, with fucking _people_ staring down at me. Only _they_ weren't Roman.

The golden kill-stick wasn't anywhere around—just so you know—I wasn't preoccupied with its location at the time—and I dragged myself to my feet, looking more like a soggy waterlogged rat than anything else.

Okay: I'm not in my dorm. I just fought Fenrir (Or that's what _I'm_ naming the doggy.), and I'm...here. Wherever here is.

Holy shit I'm going to faint.

"_Now's_ the time for the stupid ambiguous monologue!" I grumbled irritably, sloshing and clawing my way up the bank, too pissed off and dazed to be more than perfunctorily scared. "Where the _hell_ am I!"

This is a dream—has to be a dream—a really, _really_ lucid one—am I in a coma or something? Is that why I can't wake up? Can you dream while you're in a coma? That _better_ be what's going on. Economics has fried my brain! I _knew_ it!

A little uncomfortably, I faced the group of people on the road: They backed away, staring at me fearfully.

"Uh..."

One or two of them ducked out of sight.

"Where am I?" Clearly, the idea that I could speak scared the hell out of them—though I had no idea why, I'd just spend the better part of my falling into that river and then marching back up screaming like a smashed cat and cursing to high heaven.

My hip hurt like a mother, too. Ouch. Limp, limp, limp.

"You appeared out of the sky!" one person said, and I turned to them.

Uh...yeah. I kind of noticed!

_Well, how would _you_ feel if you were in their shoes?_

I rubbed at my face, in pain and wishing I were studying supply and demand curves. And what was Xehanort doing on that stupid Station, anyhow?

"Uh...I come in peace? And...uh...take me to your leader."

Yeah. _That_ got the point across.


End file.
